The inevitable night came—the one in which Vihaan would have to face his older brother, the man whose place he had taken against his own will.
Rihaan was seated in his usual place—the Crown Prince’s seat.
King Rudra said nothing to him, eating in heavy silence.
No one else at the table dared to mention the palace’s recent affairs. It was as though an unspoken rule had settled over the room.
Instead, the family spoke of other kingdoms and their ongoing negotiations. Some announced forthcoming marriages; others offered polite congratulations, smiling as brightly as they could.
Yet beneath the idle conversation, tension lingered, their awkwardness wasn’t hidden. Or perhaps they weren’t good actors—the kind of people who could mask their emotions just like royal family members.
Their gazes occasionally drifted toward Rihaan, only to be quickly averted—as though looking at him for too long might invite trouble.
The Crown Prince clenched his teeth. He couldn’t even point it out. His current situation was far too different from before, when he could say whatever crossed his mind without caring about others’ opinions.
No one told him anything, but Rihaan was no fool. He had already sensed the shift in the way his father and mother treated him.
Colder than the winter in Revhara.
Danshin was warm—always. And yet now, it felt as though Revhara’s winter had followed him back to his homeland, seeping into the air, corrupting the warmth of the land—and the atmosphere of the royal palace itself.
A decision had been made—one that went against him—though he still didn’t know what it was.
Just when he thought the dinner had finally come to an end, his father stopped him.
The dining hall fell silent as everyone departed, including the servants, their footsteps fading into the distance.
"How is your stay at the palace?" the king asked, the question catching Rihaan off guard.
It was something he had no answer to. And so, he remained silent for a long moment.
Receiving no reply, Rudra folded his arms, his gaze narrowing.
"Why are you quiet? Is the palace not to your taste?"
There was clear mockery in his tone. Rihaan swallowed hard, forcing down the anger rising in his chest.
"It is quite comfortable, Your Excellency."
Rudra let out a low laugh.
"Really? I thought otherwise. You haven’t even bothered to step out of your room for a week after our return. I assumed you had begun to regret your decision."
Rihaan’s gaze shot up, confusion flashing across his face.
Regret his decision? Why would his father think that?
"Don’t look at me as though you don’t know what I’m talking about," Rudra continued. "You abandoned the Imperial Crown Prince of Revhara. I thought some sense had finally been knocked into you after that night, but..."
"Night?" Rihaan asked. "Which night?"
"You think it was hidden from me that Crown Prince Soren visited your bedchambers? That he took care of you?" Rudra shook his head, disappointment clear in his expression.
"I truly believed your mind would finally work—but look at you. I hoped you would come to me, saying you wished to return to him, to fix everything you ruined—the marriage, the alliance—but... tsk tsk."
"You sure had a lot of hopes for me," Rihaan finally spoke.
Rudra glared at him, visibly offended.
"I have decided. Prince Vihaan will be crowned Crown Prince next week," he announced.
The words crashed down on Rihaan, their weight so heavy it nearly made him collapse.
"I-I beg your pardon?" he choked.
"You heard me correctly. From this moment on, you are no longer the Crown Prince of Danshin."
With that, King Rudra rose from his seat and walked away, leaving his son alone in the vast dining hall.
Frozen in place, Rihaan struggled to process what he had just heard.
He had lost his position—the one he had worked toward for decades, relentlessly.
Countless sleepless nights. Endless training. A constant struggle to be worthy.
It couldn’t be right—for everything to be taken from him in a single day.
His fingers curled tightly, nails digging into his palms, yet Rihaan neither noticed nor felt the pain. It was as though his body had gone numb, refusing to react.
Stumbling, he made his way back to his chambers, barely managing to keep his composure in front of the servants.
He slammed the door shut behind him and sank to his knees, his bones striking the floor harshly, letting out a raw, guttural scream.
Had it not been for the walls—enchanted to be soundproof thanks to magic—guards would have rushed in, fearing a robbery.
Oh, but surely he had been robbed. Robbed of years of hard work, of every ounce of effort he had poured into becoming Crown Prince.
Was one mistake truly reason enough to strip him of his title?
"Crown Prince Soren," he mumbled, voice barely a whisper.
If there was anyone who could help him now, it was the very man his father used to brand as a threat, the one for whom he had been humiliated.
Perhaps Father believed Revhara would retaliate because he had defied its Crown Prince. If only Soren could clarify that there was no such thing... then maybe everything could be set right.
The thought offered little comfort, yet somehow, it steadied him. He forced himself to his feet and moved toward his desk, just a few steps from his bed.
His gaze fell on a familiar envelope.
Surely, the messenger bird had arrived while he was gone.
A letter lay on his desk—unopened.
It was from Crown Prince Soren—his dark red rose stamp sealing the paper, elegant and unmistakable.
Rihaan’s fingers trembled slightly as he broke the seal, carefully unfolding the letter.
His eyes scanned the neat, deliberate handwriting, each word pulling him in, grounding him amidst the chaos of his thoughts.
[Your Highness,
I hope this letter finds you well.
It is unusually warm today as I write to you. As you know, winter lasts the longest here, and we, accustomed to a northern land, have grown used to seeing only white everywhere.
In your recent letter, you mentioned that the weather there is warm—nothing like Revhara. I trust you are enjoying your stay in your own homeland.
...Truthfully, I find myself envying you, in some small, quiet way.
Take care of yourself—and your beloved.
—S.S]
This time, Soren had signed the letter—not his full name but his initials were there.
Soren Sylvaris.
Rihaan gently brushed his thumb on the nearly written letters on the paper.
He jolted when he heard the door swing open, followed by familiar footsteps.
"Your Highness?"
Arav’s voice came from behind.